Hellfire
by irishwoodkern
Summary: An unfolding story based on the aftermath of the season one finale. It all begins when Abbie and Crane uncover some truths underground.
1. Chapter 1

'How much further is this damn place?' Abbie grumbled, half to herself.

Crane made no attempt to answer, having resigned himself to his partner's terse retorts and stubborn silences of late. She tried to convince him countless times that she held no resentment towards him for leaving her in Purgatory. However, deep down he was convinced that some of their unspoken trust had vanished forever, disappeared into the ether.

The silence hung heavy, like the misty rain that clung to them both. Ever since the revelation of Henry Parrish's duel identity as Jeremy and the Horseman of War, it seemed that the elements were reflecting their general mood of doom and gloom. The near-constant drizzle was an irritant to Abbie's temper as well as to her hair.

A sharp sliver of bitterness penetrated Crane's heart. Of all people, he expected that Abbie would empathise with his plight – his fellow Witness, his partner, his friend. She had told him to leave, for God's sake. She wanted to face Moloch – to embrace her destiny. They had both been so sure that it would work. They had both been deceived.

And now they were both paying for it.

Abbie was haunted by memories of her time in Purgatory – that much was clear from her behaviour. From time to time, he would catch her staring off into space, distractedly chewing at her lower lip. She was jumpier than before too. One day in the Archives, he happened to catch her off guard and ended up a hair's breadth from being shot.

He was suffering too, damn it. He had lost his wife, his precious Katrina to the Horseman of Death. The knowledge that she was still out there suffering unknown torments at the hands of her former paramour tormented him day and night. He called out to her from his heart, begging her to stay strong, to break free, to believe that he would find a way back to her.

Their daily routine continued. Find a monster, fight a monster, lick their wounds, and try not to kill each other in the process. It was becoming more of a struggle every day.

They were twenty miles north of Sleepy Hollow, stumbling through dense undergrowth as they looked for the remains of an old hunting lodge. Abbie had come across an old map of the Sleepy Hollow environs while trawling through Corbin's old case files. On it he had marked different locations of alleged occult activities. They were desperate enough to try any and all possibilities in their search for Katrina.

'Tell me what this place is again,' Abbie sighed, clearly fed up with the silence as well.

'I believe it bears the dubious distinction of being the sole example of a 'Hellfire Club' on this continent.' Crane paused to untangle himself from some briars.

'I assume you're going to tell me…'

'Hellfire clubs were dens of iniquity, frequented by the premier scoundrels and rakes of the British Isles. They were rumoured to practice the dark arts and devil-worship.'

Abbie looked side-long at him. 'So, the direct opposite of your Mason buddies?'

'Yes,' Crane remarked in surprise. They had unexpectedly fallen back into their old pattern – him lecturing her on some arcane topic and her humouring him. It was a nice feeling. 'We're here.'

Abbie turned and saw a ruined stone house half devoured by ivy. At that moment, a breeze shook the branches around them, giving the place a decidedly malevolent air. 'You really think Katrina's in there?'

'Process of elimination.' Crane shrugged. 'There are only so many places she could be.' There was a helplessness in his demeanour that tugged at Abbie's heart against her will.

'Okay.' Abbie drew her sidearm. 'Let's do this right. I'll do a sweep of the house from top to bottom. You stay behind me and try not to get us killed.'

The sharpness in her voice pained him, but he had no choice but to assent. They entered the building through the rear, moving carefully over fallen rubble and discarded beer cans. Much of the second storey had collapsed over the centuries, leaving the staircase jutting upwards into space like an upended piano keyboard.

Abbie slowly moved through the ruins, checking each corner with cool professionalism. It quickly became clear that they were alone in the building.

'This is a bust,' Abbie finally said. She noticed something on her partner's face, an air of vibrancy, of concentration. There was a vitality there that she hadn't seen since before everything fell apart. 'What is it?'

'The Hellfire brethren were often persecuted by the authorities in England for their scandalous revelries. In these Puritan lands, it stands to reason that they would conceal their activities. Like their Mason cousins, I imagine they had a few tricks up their sleeves.'

He ran his hand along the exterior wall, searching for _something, _all the while muttering to himself.

'Hellfire clubs practiced mock religious ceremonies in their orgies. In Catholic services, the priest faced _ad orientem_, towards the rising sun in the east. _Ergo, _in a building such as this, the westward wall would be the most likely…'

There was a dry scraping noise as part of the floor skidded away. Crane gently scooted Abbie backward as a mountainous cloud of dust erupted. When the air cleared, they looked down into a dark, cavernous passageway leading deep into the earth.

Abbie snapped on her torch and glanced wordlessly at Crane. Each of them instinctively knew their routine. He stayed several feet behind her, allowing her to do her thing. She walked forward, gingerly testing her weight on the first step. When it held firm, she continued down.

The interior of the tunnel revealed itself inch by inch. Crane grimaced with distaste at the sight of earthworms and centipedes squirming mere inches over his head. Not a moment too soon, they found themselves in a large room. Other than the meagre beam of light from Abbie's torch, they were surrounded by darkness.

'No Katrina,' Abbie sighed.

'There has to be something here.' Crane's frustration was evident. He tilted the light towards the north wall to reveal a long row of ancient wooden torches, wrapped in frayed cloth. 'Ah-ha.'

He retrieved one of Corbin's cigarette lighters from his pocket and set them ablaze, one after the other. The room sprang to life. In the dead centre was a stone plinth, almost an altar; otherwise the room was bare. The air around them was stuffy and close, lending the chamber an unsettling atmosphere.

'I don't think anyone's been down here in centuries.'

'Nothing,' Crane spat. 'Nothing! There's not a damn thing here!' He smacked the wall in frustration.

'Hey! I know you're angry and scared, but this building is unsafe. Be careful.'

'Sorry,' Crane said contritely. He sighed, the weight of the last few weeks telling on him.

Abbie sniffed – the air was dry and musty. Who knew what kind of ancient spores were lurking down there. 'Let's get outta here. I promised Jenny I'd call her and give her the latest.'

All it took was a nudge, the slightest disturbance of a protruding rock. The jolt caused a chain reaction that sent a pile of rubble toppling over on top of her.

'Abbie!' Crane shouted, lurching towards her. 'Are you all right?'

She lay on the ground, gasping as the initial shock wore off and she was able to assess the damage. Her head was undamaged; crucially she hadn't lost consciousness. Her arms and torso seemed uninjured, but her legs were pinned beneath some large stones.

'I think so,' she said through her teeth. 'Please get these off of me.'

Crane tried to prise the heaviest of the stones from her legs, but when Abbie cried out in pain he was forced to stop. He examined the rocky cairn and saw that the stones were positioned just so that removing the uppermost would cause her to be crushed.

He whipped out his phone and grunted in frustration when he saw that there was no reception. He stood up straight and pondered what to do, seeing the strain on Abbie's brow.

's okay,' she breathed. 'I'll be good till you get back.'

He felt a wave of shame and sadness as he beheld her. He had experienced this dilemma once before – the day he had said goodbye to her in Purgatory. The memory of that decision pierced him with unexpected force.

'I will return,' he said, the words seeming to hold a deeper significance in that moment. He all but sprinted out into the light, and with shaking fingers he called 911. The call placed, he returned to the chamber.

'Have no fear, Miss Mills,' he announced with as much bravado he could muster. 'The medics are on their way.'

His smile faded when he saw Abbie lying lifeless, eyes closed and head lolling back. He stood frozen in shock, struck with the sickening realisation that she must have sustained an unseen injury. He rushed to her side, afraid to touch her, but desperate to know that she still lived.

Shaking, he felt her throat for a pulse, and let out a shuddering breath when he was rewarded with the faint but persistent throbbing of her heartbeat.

'Thank God,' he gasped. Every other thought – the approaching Apocalypse, the location of his beloved Katrina – everything disappeared. All that mattered was here in this room.

He lifted her head and gently laid it on his shoulder as he held her close, rocking her slightly. This was his punishment. Forget losing his wife, forget the torment of knowing that his son was a servant of evil – this was the reward. To lose his dearest friend, his precious Abbie – he knew he would not survive it.

He heard a rumbling sound that shook him to his very core, as loud as God's trumpets of the Day of Judgement. He looked around the chamber. Dust rained down on him like snow as a boulder slid down from a hidden recess in the ceiling, slowly blocking the exit.

He knew that he had mere seconds in which to act, but suddenly the path ahead was clear to him. The temptation to act selfishly, to save his own miserable hide skittered through his mind like a thief in the night, disappearing just as quickly. He could not abandon Abbie in such a miserable place. He would not leave her alone.

The stone slid into place, sealing them inside. It dawned on Crane how ingeniously they had been trapped. The members of the Hellfire club had clearly rigged the chamber to imprison any intruders foolish enough to seek to uncover their secrets. Anyone who entered would be doomed to the worst fate imaginable – to be buried alive.

Crane tried to calculate how much air the chamber contained. He knew it could not be much; soon the torches would extinguish themselves one by one. Soon, Abbie would succumb to her injuries.

At least she would not suffer overmuch, unlike him. He would be awake until the end; he would plenty of time to repent his conduct. He had wasted so much time feeling sorry for himself, silently resenting Abbie for not appreciating the depth of his pain.

He felt tears falling from his cheeks, wetting Abbie's hair. He tenderly kissed the top of her head.

'Goodbye, my dear Lieutenant.'

* * *

Abbie blinked awake, confused by the brightness of the fluorescents above her. It took her a few seconds to note that she was not in her room, a handful more to recollect that she had been lying under a pile of rocks in an underground cave.

'Crane?' she murmured.

Her voice was hoarse and soft, but it snapped him awake at once. He had been dozing in a plastic chair next to her hospital bed. 'Miss Mills, how are you?'

'Thirsty,' she replied.

He filled a glass from the jug of water that stood on her nightstand and held it to her mouth as she drank. 'What happened?' she eventually asked.

'You were injured in the tunnel under the Hellfire club. The surgeons were obliged to operate.'

Her memories snapped into place. 'How did they get me out?'

'Luckily, one of us was using her brain.' Jenny was leaning casually against the doorframe, her nonchalant attitude breaking only slightly as her brow creased with anxiety. 'I got worried when you didn't call. I managed to triangulate your location using the GPS on your phone and found your truck by the side of the road.'

Abbie sensed there was more to this story, but at that moment all that concerned her was the burning ache in her abdomen. 'Level with me, Crane. Am I going to be all right?'

Crane looked down at his filth-encrusted hands, anguish and worry burning in his eyes. 'They removed your spleen – it was irreparably damaged. However, they say that you will make a complete recovery.'

His voice almost broke, and then he caught Abbie's bright, unswerving gaze and his breath caught. There was a long moment of silence as each of them struggled with everything they longed to say but couldn't.

Jenny spoke first. 'I'm pretty sure I saw some Jello at the nurses' station. I'm gonna go swipe it before that greedy geriatric next door gets his paws on it.'

Even as Jenny left the room, Abbie's eyes did not leave Crane's. 'You didn't leave me,' she said in tone of quiet wonder.

Crane's mouth opened slightly. 'How did you…?'

'I don't know.' Abbie shook her head. 'I felt like it was all over, but something, _someone _was pulling me back. It was you, Crane. I felt you holding me.'

Once more, Crane's hands seemed to hold a particular fascination for him. After a few moments, he was able to speak again.

'Yes,' he whispered. 'And I solemnly promise you this, I will not leave you again. No matter what may occur, I shall never forsake you.'


	2. Chapter 2

Abbie loved the sound of the rain. It reminded her of long afternoons spent alone in her room as a child, playing with her dollhouse. For some reason, rain made the world go quiet and still. There were no fearful sobs, no banging doors or barking dogs. The chaos of her daily life – a volatile, alcoholic father and a mother who had retreated into the solace of madness – melted away for a precious hour or two. The pattering on the roof, the gurgling in the gutters and the tap-tap-tap against the window were the sounds of pure happiness.

Now, as Abbie sat in her kitchen, chugging a rapidly cooling latte, the sound of the rain was a reminder once more of everything she had lost.

Since Katrina was rescued from Abraham's clutches, Abbie's life had undergone a complete sea-change. There were times when she had begrudged Crane's presence in her life, his constant need for explanation and reassurance, her instinct to mother him. What she tended to forget was how much she had come to cherish his eccentricities, to look forward to his apoplectic outbursts about modern life.

Now a door had slammed in her face and she was that little girl again, alone in the rain.

Crane and Katrina's reunion had become a second honeymoon. For a solid week, they had barely left the cabin. Neither she nor Jenny had fully recovered from the injuries sustained in their respective accidents, yet Crane's absence had forced them to shoulder the burden of fighting the war against Moloch by themselves.

It was a bitter pill to swallow.

Things had been quiet on the demon front, but in terms of planning a strategy to prevent the Apocalypse, they were well and truly stuck. Abbie hated to admit it, but Crane's unique brain would really come in really useful right about now.

They were working on a cipher that Jenny had uncovered, buried inside the diary of an 18th century rector at the Old Dutch Church. His writings were elliptical, but Jenny was sure that the code held a clue to defeating Moloch. Without Crane's bottomless knowledge of cryptography and obscure languages, they were practically banging their heads against the wall in frustration.

In the silence that surrounded her, Abbie began to feel like she as spiralling out of control. It was as if small pieces of her identity were shearing off and flying away, like a leaf in a wind tunnel. She was disappearing. As much as she had been Crane's anchor to the twenty-first century, he had been hers. In the aftermath of Corbin's death, when the forces of hell threatened to drag her under, he had tethered her to life. Now that he had found Katrina again, what did she have to cling to?

In that moment, with the rain whipping against her windows, she could have sworn she heard a light tapping at her door. Just when she had dismissed it as a tree branch caught in the wind, she heard it again, louder this time, and then a voice.

'Miss Mills? It's Katrina Crane – may I speak to you for a moment?'

Abbie pulled back the chain and opened the door to find Katrina standing in front of her, bedraggled and soaked to the skin.

'Come in,' Abbie said quickly, holding the door wider for the other woman.

Katrina stood in the living room, seeming a little lost.

'Let me get you a towel. You'll catch pneumonia,' Abbie suggested, more as a means of breaking the awkward silence than out of genuine concern.

'There is no need,' Katrina replied, her precise tones carrying an authority that belied their softness. 'The cold does not affect me.'

Abbie gestured towards the couch, positioning herself on a chair, the balls of her feet touching the floor in readiness. 'How can I help you?'

'From what I have heard, you and my husband formed a close bond during the time you spent together.'

_Damn_, Abbie thought. _The woman certainly doesn't beat around the bush._

'Didn't really have much of a choice in the matter,' she said lightly. 'Crane had nowhere to go. He needed me.'

The words slipped out before she knew it. Sure enough, she saw a flash of pain in Katrina's eyes. As quick as a wink, though, she recovered her composure.

'Be that as it may, I am Ichabod's wife.'

Despite the bluntness of her words, Abbie could detect no hint of accusation in the other woman's voice. What she heard was something close to desperation.

'What's the matter, Katrina?'

Katrina looked down at her hands, seemingly at a loss for what to say. 'You can imagine how I felt when I discovered that my son was alive, Miss Mills. I went from elation to despair in a matter of seconds. To know that not only was my son was an instrument of evil, but that he had betrayed me to the Horseman of Death, it was… almost unbearable.'

She paused, her voice choked with emotion.

'Miss Mills, until you have a child of your own you cannot understand, but being a mother is a blessing and a burden at the same time. Despite everything that has happened, I cannot forget the love I bore for Jeremy. However, I can ensure that the mistakes of the past are not repeated.'

Katrina stood up and regarded Abbie with a look of fierce determination. It was so unexpected as to be almost frightening.

'There are medicines and devices which can prevent a woman from getting with child, are there not?'

Abbie reacted with surprise. 'Yes,' she answered slowly, trying to make sense of what Katrina was saying.

'I need you to procure one of these items for me.' She laughed nervously. 'I wouldn't know how to go about it.'

'Sure, I guess.' Abbie was anything but sure. 'You have talked to Crane about this, right?'

Katrina turned her back on her. 'I don't want Ichabod to know about this – it would break his heart. If you knew how dearly he longs for children...'

Abbie was genuinely shocked. Surely Katrina was not serious about keeping something so huge from her own husband? 'You can still have a child, Katrina. He's not going to turn into Jeremy.'

'You don't know that for sure!'

Katrina rounded on her again, eyes flashing. In that moment, Abbie got a distinct impression of just how powerful the witch could be.

'It was an error, the most profound folly, to give in to my feelings with so much at stake. For a witch to marry a Witness was a terrible risk – Jeremy's powers are a testament to that. I dare not take that chance again.'

Abbie approached Katrina, challenging her. 'If you don't want to get pregnant again, why don't you use your witchy powers?'

'I wish I could, but it is against the rules of my order to interfere with nature's course. I have seen witches cast into exile for inducing a miscarriage. I have already suffered so much at the hands of the Sisterhood of the Radiant Heart – ' she almost spat the name – 'if any of them still survive, I still fear their retribution.'

She seemed so vulnerable that Abbie was tempted to reach out and touch her hand, but she held back. There was still something about Katrina that she didn't trust. As much as Abbie sympathised, her primary allegiance was to Crane.

'Look, Katrina, I'll help you get what you need, but I won't go behind Crane's back. You need to talk to him. That's the deal.'

* * *

Two days later, Crane walked into the archives with a spring in his step. All it took was one glance for Abbie to know that Katrina had not fulfilled her promise to talk to him. She sighed deeply.

He cheerfully greeted Abbie and Jenny in turn, without noticing the shell-shocked expression on both their faces.

'Crane.' Abbie approached him, concern creasing her brow. 'Jenny's found something. You need to hear this.'

Jenny warily regarded him from her seat at the table, manuscripts and books splayed in front of her like dissected laboratory animals. 'Since you've been _incommunicado_ for the past few days, we've had to do some digging of our own.'

She showed Crane the pastor's journal with its mysterious cipher.

'I've been trying to translate this for days. I finally figured it out last night – the cipher is based on Native American pictograms. The translation isn't perfect – of course we could've used your help…'

'Jenny.' Abbie's voice was a warning.

'Here, check out the entry for 15 February 1774.'

Crane took the journal from her hands, along with a fair copy of the translation she had made. His heart was hammering in his chest as he began to read aloud.

"God be praised – His Holy Word and Writ be done. I have been blessed with visions and have spoken with many tongues. Holy, holy be his name. One of His Witnesses walks the earth – I have seen him with mine own eyes. He is 1st Lieutenant Ichabod Crane of the Queen's Royal Regiment. I must pray and have faith and the path before me will become clear. In the dark times to come, the Witnesses may be our only hope."

Crane was shocked. Someone in his own time had known his destiny as a Witness. He felt a thrill of excitement and fear, as of an unknown truth revealing itself.

Jenny ran her finger down the page. 'Read the 22th of March.' Her voice was small, lacking her usual barely-concealed air of truculence.

"I have had congress with the Sisterhood of the Radiant Heart. Though witches, they are not as foul as their reputation suggests. The coven has pledged itself to battling the evil forces that threaten us in the dark times ahead."

Crane's eyes widened with shock and horror. It was with great difficulty that he managed to keep reading.

"One of them has vowed to play her part in bringing Ichabod Crane to our side in this holy war. She will seduce him and beguile him with sweet words, and if the task proves difficult, use her magic to persuade him of the righteousness of our cause. She shows great courage and fortitude, though she knows that cleaving herself to this man will degrade her in body and spirit. Her name is Katrina Van Tassel."

Crane's mind reeled. Everything he had clung to in this world had been ripped from him in a matter of seconds. For a moment he entertained the notion that Jenny had incorrectly interpreted the cipher, or worse, deliberately deceived him. Though comforting, he quickly discarded these delusions. He knew that Jenny and Abbie would never mislead him.

As painful as the truth was, he had to face it. Their meeting was not a beautiful accident as he had once believed, but a contrived event. Katrina, on behalf of her coven, had cajoled and manipulated him for her own purposes. Worse still, she had married him and borne his child, all the while knowing that their love was based upon a falsehood.

What he most desperately wanted to know was, what else was not true? Did Katrina engineer his encounter with Abraham on the battlefield that day? Did she place that spell on him whilst knowing that he would awaken and encounter Abbie?

Katrina's reticence about revealing her pregnancy made a horrible kind of sense to him now.

'Crane?'

He looked up and saw Abbie's eyes alight with compassion.

'Talk to me, Crane. Tell me what you're thinking.'

Though fluent in many languages, it was impossible for him to translate his thoughts into coherent words. He stood up, feeling weak yet at the same time emboldened with a new sense of purpose.

'If you will excuse me, Miss Mills, Miss Jenny, I must leave you.'

He knew what he had to do.


	3. Chapter 3

The moment Crane entered the archives, it was obvious to Abbie that he had not passed the night pleasantly. Stress and pain was etched into a deep furrow over his eyebrows. His mouth was set into a deep frown, as if contemplating something beyond her knowledge.

'Good day, Miss Mills.'

The salutation lacked his usual gallant flair; it hurt Abbie's heart to see it.

'How you doing, Crane?' she asked carefully, as if he was a time bomb, liable to explode if handled improperly.

He sat down in his customary seat, unsure of himself. 'I have been walking around the town for hours, trying to make sense of everything.'

Abbie stood and walked to a small table in the corner. Months ago – after one particularly murderous all-nighter – she had invested in a coffee maker for the archives. If she had to rely on Starbucks for her regular caffeine fix, she would be bankrupt long before the End of Days. She changed the filter and added a generous heap of coffee grounds before switching on the percolator.

'Did you speak to Katrina?' she asked gently, turning to him.

He nodded briskly. 'It was distressing in the extreme. She begged me to believe that despite the genesis of her mission, she did genuinely come to love me before we wed.'

Abbie folded her arms. 'And do you believe her?'

'I don't know.' Crane rubbed his tired eyes. 'I'm not sure of anything now.'

There was a long silence. Abbie was unsure how to proceed; she knew that Crane was in a delicate frame of mind, but she had to tell him her suspicions.

'If Katrina was… playing a part with you, didn't it strike you that the Horseman's appearance might have been convenient for her mission?'

Crane laughed mirthlessly. 'What, that Katrina acted as _agent provocateur_ between myself and Abraham? That she deliberately came between us by seducing us both, knowing that we would die together, then rise again in order to fulfil God's prophecy?' His tone was hollow and bitter.

'I'm just asking.' Abbie shrugged. She knew that she had to keep her temper in check. Crane needed her to be the level-headed one at this moment.

'Of course I considered it!' He furiously sprang to his feet. 'And I asked her too. I accused my own wife – God help me. I'll never forget the expression on her face. "Have I not suffered enough, Ichabod? Have I not sacrificed everything for your sake? I never saw my father before he died, did you know that? Trapped in Purgatory for two centuries while I hoped and prayed for you to rise again – is that not enough to allay your suspicions?"'

He sat down again, his distress evident from his slouched posture. He did not speak for a long time.

'She swore to me as faithfully as ever I saw that she had no knowledge of the role Abraham would play in our lives. All she knew was that I was the First Witness. She even hoped that she would be the other.'

'The Second Witness?' Abbie laughed to herself. 'Hey, if she wants to job so badly…'

Crane glanced up at her. He did not join in with her laughter, but the burdened look on his face eased a little.

'If only you knew how long I have waited to be reunited with her. In these unfamiliar times, I have been a ship tossed upon the waves. My only anchor has been my dreams of a future together.'

Abbie felt a sharp pang of sympathy for her partner. She had turned herself inside out trying to help Crane acclimatise to the 21st century, yet for all her efforts he had still been hopelessly lonely for his wife. Finding out that she had been lying to him from the beginning must have broken his heart.

She pulled her chair close to his and sat down, gingerly taking his hand in hers. 'Crane, I know you must be feeling unbelievably betrayed right now. It's hard to know if you can trust her, right?'

He nodded with reluctance.

'We do know one thing for sure. She did what she did because she's on our side. She's not our enemy, Crane. And right now, we can use all the help we can get. She's the only witch left alive in Sleepy Hollow, and if we're going to defeat Henry…'

All of a sudden, Crane pulled his hand away.

Abbie looked at him in surprise. 'Are you okay?'

'Quite all right, Miss Mills.' He averted his gaze as he spoke.

'Crane?' Abbie tried again, growing ever more irritated at his refusal to meet her eyes. 'You do want to defeat Henry, right?'

Only after a long while did he dare to look at her. He was embarrassed and shy, scratching the back of his neck in that universal language of men. 'He's my son, Abbie. I have to believe that he can be redeemed. For all that he has been twisted and warped by Moloch's lies, for all the harm he has caused to your family in particular, I must try…' He paused, his breaths coming in a raw, shaky staccato. 'I must try to get him back.'

Abbie was in shock. Since emerging from Purgatory, nothing had existed in her mind apart from bringing Henry to account. She had never considered that Crane would feel differently. For the first time, she felt the impenetrable united front that she and Crane had presented to the world starting to crack.

That he had accidentally caused her ancestors' deaths was never an issue for her. That was the act of Jeremy Crane, a boy with frightening powers who had grown up without the guidance and protection of a mother or father.

Henry Parrish was a different matter entirely. He had willingly given his soul to Moloch, who had buried his father alive and given his mother to their enemy as a prize. He was the villain of this story, and she had no compunctions about sending him to his master permanently.

As impossible as it seemed, Crane still harboured hopes of reuniting his family. He felt the bottomless, hopeless love of a father. It was a feeling she could never understand. At the same time, she sympathised with Crane's feelings.

She just hoped that when the time came, she would have the strength to do what he could not.

* * *

'Cannot you tell me where we are going?'

They had been driving over rough terrain for fifteen minutes now. Abbie had turned her car off the main road highway of Sleepy Hollow onto a forestry road that led God only knew where.

'All I know is what Captain Reyes told me. There's an incident in progress on the old Mill Road. They need everyone down there.' She eyed him seriously. 'You need to be invisible when we get there. I mean it, Crane. Reyes won't be happy to see you.'

Since her arrival in Sleepy Hollow, the new captain's treatment of them both had varied between suspicion and outright disdain. She was certainly no Frank Irving, and since then, they had been forced to keep their extra-curricular anti-Moloch activities on the quiet.

She felt distracted, like there was something important pressing on the back of her mind. She hadn't heard from Jenny since the previous afternoon. Her sister was being peculiar and distant, even more so than usual. When Abbie suggested they hunker down in the archives with takeout and Dante's _Inferno_, she fobbed her off with vague excuses and promises to fill her in later.

Abbie checked her phone for the umpteenth time that morning and saw no reply to her messages and texts. After all the progress the two of them had made, it felt like they had suddenly slumped back into their old routine.

The police road block loomed ahead of them. The breadth of the road was cordoned off, and beyond it were at least a dozen cars belonging to Sleepy Hollow's finest. As they stalked up the tree-lined dirt road, Abbie noticed something else that sent a chill through her. The cordon was marked ATF.

Crane saw the look of alarm on her face. 'What is it, Lieutenant?'

She turned to him, her brow creased. 'Listen to me. Whatever happens, you need to stay behind that cordon, you hear me?'

'Yes, but…' He could see from her expression that further argument would be both fruitless and painful to her. 'Behind the cordon, as you say.'

She smiled before taking a deep breath and advancing, flashing her badge at the officer manning the cordon. Just as she suspected, he was a federal agent. It did not take long for her to find Captain Reyes among the fray.

'Lieutenant Mills, glad you could join us.'

Her tone and bearing conveyed disapproval, but Abbie was used to that now. She kept her voice low. 'You didn't tell me that Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms were running the show.'

'I tell my officers what they need to know in order to perform their duties, Mills.'

Abbie curbed her temper. 'Can you tell me what's going on? It looks like every cop we have is out here.'

Captain Reyes directed Abbie's gaze through a gap between two police cars. She could see a dilapidated wooden house in the distance; an old logger's hut by the looks of it.

'We got a report of a hostage situation. The suspect is a man named Clifton Larroquette, a small-time criminal with a string of convictions for weapons violations and petty theft. ATF arrived this morning, attempting to execute a search warrant to uncover a cache of illegal weapons bought at a gun show in Virginia last month.'

'Let me guess,' Abbie interrupted. 'The ATF sold it to him.'

Reyes laughed drily. 'They won't admit it, but they've been known to dabble in entrapment from time to time – anything to get their man. Anyhow, things escalated and Larroquette refused to come out, said he wouldn't talk to anyone except his lawyer from Virginia. He's currently en route.'

'Ma'am, what's stopping them from storming the place? They have smoke grenades, all kinds of non-deadly options…'

'The problem is, Larroquette has a wife and step-daughter in there with him, along with a group of friends. They're part of a religious sect that moved out here a couple of years ago.'

'Survivalists?' Abbie ventured.

'Essentially. They claim to be Wiccans, mixed up with a bunch of Book of Revelation mumbo-jumbo. They believe that the End Times are approaching, that God will cleanse the Earth and leave only the righteous. Guess they didn't read the Bible passage about suffering witches to live.'

Abbie felt a cold, heavy, wet thing slithering inside her belly. Was this a coincidence; a bunch of anti-government wing-nuts with occult tendencies? But what if it were true? She wondered briefly what Katrina might think of having some of her own kind right here in Sleepy Hollow.

'What's the plan?'

'Right now, I'm doing everything I can to keep a lid on it. Whatever happens, I don't want…'

There was a sudden commotion among the agents and Abbie heard a burst of static coming from Reyes's walkie-talkie.

'I didn't copy that – can you repeat? Over.'

Abbie say the face of her superior go slack as she listened.

'Copy that.' She turned to Abbie. 'You're gonna need a bulletproof vest. Agent Davis of the ATF wants to brief you.'

'Wait, brief me on what? What's going on?'

Captain Reyes met her eyes for the first time. There was something unfamiliar in their depths, something that could almost be mistaken for sympathy.

'They want to talk to you – only you. You're our designated negotiator.'

Abbie was baffled, a fearful feeling creeping up on her. 'Why me?'

'Because your sister is in there, Lieutenant. Jenny Mills is one of the hostages.'


	4. Chapter 4

The world was aflame. Abbie could feel the intensity of the heat assaulting her skin, making it feel as thin and brittle as paper. She could barely breathe; her throat ached with an acrid, smoky stench. She was only dimly aware of the chaos around her; cops and feds milled around uselessly; water spewed from dozens of fire hoses towards the blazing house where it fizzed and evaporated.

Her insides roiled in horror. The urgent need to find Jenny fought with the wave of powerlessness that swept over her, remembering the part she had played in bringing this nightmare to pass.

The phone call had been planned in painstaking detail. Abbie was given a list of question and answer scenarios that had been designed to achieve the primary objective: freeing the hostages with minimal casualties. Even without the strict instruction not to deviate from the script, Abbie felt the weight of what was being asked of her.

From time to time, she sought out Crane's eyes in the crowd, looking for reassurance. Shaking with fear, she found them again and again, feeling the warmth of his compassion and the unwavering trust radiating from him, even at a distance.

She positioned the headset, feeling the stares of the ATF agents hovering around her. The piercing sound of the dial tone assaulted her ears.

'Hello?'

The voice was male, middle-aged and raspy from too many cigarettes. Abbie recognised a slight Southern drawl among his elongated syllables.

'This is Lieutenant Abbie Mills from Sleepy Hollow Sheriff's Department. You wanted to speak to me?'

There was a long silence. Abbie wondered for a moment if the call had been disconnected. 'Hello? Mr. Larroquette, are you there?' She heard a slight tinge of panic in her voice.

'Abbie?'

She almost didn't recognise Jenny's voice; she sounded so panicked and small. Her skin prickled with trepidation. 'Jenny, are you okay?'

'Abbie, you have to listen. There are twenty-four people here, including children. These people are well-armed and are prepared to die rather than surrender to the police. They have enough cyanide tablets for everybody.'

It was as bad as Abbie could have imagined. Images of Ruby Ridge and Waco appeared in her mind; smoke and flames billowing from buildings and the horror of imagining what the people inside were suffered. She would do anything in her power to avoid that result.

'What do they want?'

'Larroquette demands that the ATF clears off. He says they'll only deal with Sleepy Hollow's finest.'

Abbie raised her eyebrows. She knew that there was no way in hell that Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms, one of the most uncompromising branches of the U.S. government, would back off. Before she could frame a negative response, Jenny was speaking again.

'He understands that this is a tough sell, but as a gesture of faith, he's willing to release the kids. In return for this, he asks that the police move back twenty feet as he suspects that they have itchy trigger fingers, and he's concerned for the safety of the children.'

It seemed like quite a reasonable suggestion, which was she knew that why Agent Davis would hate it. Sure enough, she saw him shake his head firmly. This was why she hated being forced to play piggy-in-the-middle. She would get flack for taking reasonable suggestions that would probably save lives.

_But all those children…_

'Tell him we're willing to negotiate.'

* * *

Abbie could feel ash raining down on her. She dared not guess what it consisted of, her mind was so consumed with terror. Watching the inferno raging through the outbuildings and heading towards the tree-line, she heard herself screaming Jenny's name, over and over.

She recalled the events of a few hours ago with an aching clarity. She had tried to act the go-between, to be calm and diplomatic, but it seemed that every choice made things worse. A series of quick decisions on her part – rash, but well-intentioned – had culminated in a disastrous reaction from the ATF. They refused to give way, to surrender an inch.

Before she knew it, the house was up in flames.

She may have lost consciousness. The next thing she knew she was crouching next to a police car and someone was calling her.

'Miss Mills? Lieutenant!'

Like a dream, she saw Crane striding through the swirling tendrils of smoke. She had never felt so glad to have someone disregard her instructions.

'Crane!' She grabbed at his arms, desperate for contact, to feel something solid and real. 'Crane, I can't find Jenny…' Her voice was so small and frail in her ears; in that moment she despised herself. 'I did this, Crane. I caused this.'

Crane held her shoulder firmly, sensing her need to be held. He tilted her forward ever so slightly, allowing her head to lean into his chest. 'Whatever you believe, you are not responsible for this.'

'But Jenny…'

He stepped back, looking into her eyes with meaning. 'Jenny is safe,' he said calmly. 'Come with me.'

Scarcely able to believe her ears, Abbie allowed herself to be drawn away from the conflagration and into the darkness. Crane led her down a lane flanked on both sides by tall conifers. It was almost pitch black, but soon they reached a clearing, illuminated by the feeble light of the waning crescent moon.

She let out a tiny cry of relief when she saw Jenny huddled on the ground. Around her were less than a dozen undernourished children, smeared with soot and eyes glittering with terror. Abbie's heart sank when she realised that this ragged band of refugees were the only survivors.

Abbie pulled Jenny to her feet and enclosed her in a spine-crushing hug. Eventually, Jenny pulled away. 'I'm cool. I'm cool.'

They stood in silence for a moment, conveying their shock and relief without words.

'Jenny?'

A small girl, probably no more than twelve, stood in the middle of the group. She was a mere slip of a thing, but in her eyes, Abbie saw an indomitable strength. Her gaze was so direct that it was almost intimidating. It took a moment to realise that what was so unsettling was that the girl reminded Abbie of herself as a child.

'Jenny, my mom's dead, isn't she?'

She said this in a low voice, as if aware that the other children were listening. Jenny seemed frozen in grief, unable to give voice to the truth.

'I tried to help her, but it was too late,' she whispered. Despite her calm demeanour, the other children began to cry and wail for their mothers, the gravity of the situation sinking in.

'Come on,' Abbie said to Jenny, taking charge. 'We've got to get these kids to the hospital.'

* * *

Hours later in the archives, Jenny sat wrapped in a blanket, sipping milky coffee from Abbie's sleek machine. They had been released from the hospital a little after midnight. It had been a horrible scene, the cries of grieving friends and relatives punctuated by the intermittent cries of the children. Ichabod had gone home, presumably to seek comfort in the arms of his wife.

'What were you doing there, Jenny?'

'That little girl, Trudy? Her mother was a good friend of mine.'

She paused, and Abbie glimpsed the raw pain in her eyes. She placed a hand on her sister's wrist in a gesture of comfort and security. 'I'm so sorry, Jen.'

Jenny shook her head. 'She called me a couple of days ago – told me she had something crucial to defeating Henry. A weapon.'

Abbie's eyes widened. 'What kind of weapon?' she asked in hushed tones.

'Before Debbie could explain, everything starting going down. I saw her...' Jenny's voice cracked. 'She took a cyanide pill with Larroquette. But before she died, she made me promise to save the children. To save Trudy in particular.'

'Makes sense.'

'No, you don't understand. I didn't understand until after, when I saw Trudy heal one of the other kids. A little girl was convulsing on the ground – she was dying. Trudy put a hand on her and just... fixed her.'

Abbie struggled to make sense of her sister's words. 'So, what you're saying is...'

'Trudy is the weapon.'

Crane burst into the room before either of them had the chance to speak further. 'She's gone!'

'Trudy's gone?' Abbie leapt to her feet, her brain still reeling. 'What happened?'

'No.' Crane was near tears. 'It's Katrina. Katrina's gone.'

He clutched a note which Abbie prised from his numb fingers.

"Beloved Ichabod," she read aloud. "I beg you to forgive me for deceiving you. The web I wove all those years ago has haunted me in these blissful weeks we have spent together. The fault was mine, and I must atone for it in solitude. Our love was wrong from the start, an accused thing, born out of deception and half-truths. Henry will forever be a mark on my soul – my purgatory revivified. I beg you to forget me, though I cannot promise the same for you. Always, your Katrina."


	5. Chapter 5

Abbie was bone-tired when she pulled up outside Crane's cabin. She had spent hours at the courthouse, waiting to hear Judge Matthews' decision about Trudy. With no other living relatives, usual procedure dictated that the girl be put into the system. Given her own experience of foster care, she wanted to avoid that outcome at all costs. Rashly, it seemed in hindsight, she had made a passionate case for being awarded temporary custody.

She could scarcely believe her ears when the judge agreed to her petition. Once the immediate satisfaction had worn off, she went into a state of shock which quickly exploded into panic. She left Trudy in the enthusiastic care of station receptionist Mandy (seven months pregnant with her third child) and drove to the nearest mall. Abbie stormed through the clothing and bedding departments, grabbing anything pink and girly she could lay her hands on. While she was a little out of step with the tastes of modern tweens, she guessed that the frillier, the better.

By the time she approached Crane's door, she was really ready to fold with exhaustion. She was sure she would see Hello Kitties as soon as she closed her eyes that night. The last thing she wanted to do was provide a shoulder for a grief-stricken friend, but this was Crane, and Abbie had no other option.  
'Crane?' She pushed the door open. When there was no answer, she felt a cold stab of fear. The week that had passed since Katrina's unceremonious departure had been a harrowing torment for Crane. Every day, she forced herself to stand witness to her partner's pain, all the while feeling like she was being pulled in six different directions. It was hard to provide comfort when all her thoughts were consumed by Trudy. If she really was a weapon as Jenny had said, then she needed all the protection that Abbie could provide.

'Leave me be.'

Abbie advanced into the cabin and saw a dishevelled Crane stretched out on the floor, a bottle of Best Barbadian rum lying empty at his feet.

'Oh, Crane,' she sighed. 'How long are you planning on keeping this up?'

'That depends.' He kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling. 'For how long does the pain subsist?'

Abbie wanted to cry at these words, so heart-breaking in their simplicity. Then her exhaustion, blended with her natural bloody-mindedness, sent her temper soaring. She knelt beside him and grabbed him sharply under the elbow, paying no heed to the slight hiss that came from him when she accidentally dug her nails in.

'I know you're in the seventh circle of hell right now, Crane. But you are a soldier in a war that we're losing – not because we have to, but because you've laid down your arms and surrendered. I do not accept that, Crane, not from you.'

Crane looked at her for the first time, a shard of realisation piercing his drunken stupor.

'There's a little girl out there who needs us. She's all alone in the world, and she has no idea what her role might be in this war. I see it as our job to help her find out.' She let go of his arm and stood up. 'When you're finished feeling sorry for yourself, let me know.'

She walked away from him, towards the door. 'Lieutenant?'

She turned to see Crane on his feet, shame-faced and slightly wobbly on his feet.

'Would you be so kind as to wait while I make myself presentable?'

For the first time in days, Abbie felt a small smile creep across her face.

* * *

Abbie poured coffee grounds into the machine and switched it on. Crane sat at her kitchen table, pale and sickly and clearly hating himself. He was sobering up, the ramifications of his behaviour over the past week starting to sink in.

'When the coffee's done brewing, start drinking. I'm going see how Trudy's getting on.' There was an undeniable tightness in her voice that she tried to check. She was tired and stressed, and she had an orphaned girl under her care. Crane needed to man up as far as she was concerned.

She saw his slumped shoulders and defeated demeanour and felt a pang of guilt. Katrina had been his guiding star in these unfamiliar times. The dream of being reunited had kept him going when grief and loss threatened to drag him under.

'It strikes me that I've never thanked you.'

Abbie looked back in surprise. She wondered if she had misheard him. 'For what?'

Crane gave a hollow laugh. 'For everything. Since the day we met, you have treated me with nothing but the utmost kindness, guiding me the unnavigable straits of this strange and unfamiliar world. And in return, I have repaid you with sarcasm and insolence. I am a poor friend indeed.'

Abbie thought back. While it was true that she had never heard him thank her, she had never paid it much mind. She had taken it as one of those unspoken things that he was too proud to say and she was too tactful to drag from him.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. Sometimes, it was nice to hear the words spoken aloud, particularly when she knew how difficult it was for Crane to show any vulnerability.

'You don't have to thank me. Just be you, that's all.'

Crane regarded her directly for a moment. There was an unfamiliar look in his eyes – a humbled, haunted glance. Her words – though simple – seemed to impact him deeply. He was Ichabod Crane, not the shell of a man that he had inhabited for the past week. From now on, he would be the man she respected, and would endeavour never to disappoint her again.

Abbie gently tapped on the guest room door. After a moment she heard a small voice from within.

'Come in. I've hidden my stash.'

Abbie smiled in spite of herself. _Cheeky little brat._

Though freshly bathed and dressed in her new pink pyjamas, Trudy looked so undernourished and pathetic that it made Abbie's heart ache. The girl was reading an old, battered paperback with a cover so torn and faded as to be illegible.

'What are you reading there?' Abbie asked as gently as possible.

'It's _Heidi_,' Trudy replied, a little embarrassed. She shrugged. 'I know it's kids' stuff but it's my favourite book. And it's the only thing I managed to take with me out of the house when…'

Abbie felt a spike of sympathy as she watched a faraway look creep over the girl's face. 'Look, Trudy. I know it's been the worst week of your life. All of this must seem terrifying, and lonely, and sad. I can't promise that's going to get better any time soon, but I promise that I'll do everything I can to protect you.'

Trudy kept her eyes trained on some loose threads on the corner of the duvet cover that she was worrying with her fingers. 'Mom said that bad things happen to good people all the time. Said we might not live very long.'

'Your mom said that?' 'She started saying a lot of strange things when we moved into the compound. End of Days stuff, that I would have a part to play in the coming war. Like I was some kind of chosen one, or something.'

Abbie was struck by the simplicity and lack of self-pity in the girl's words. It reminded her of her own unnatural maturity at that age. _Kids in messed-up situations grow up fast_, she reasoned.

'Look, if you need to talk about any of this…'

'I'm okay,' Trudy replied.

In an instant, Abbie sensed the girl's walls going up. She knew that the worst thing she could do at that moment was push her. If there was anyone who should know the ways of dysfunctional children, it was her.

'Well, you know where I am if you need anything.'

She retreated, feeling helpless and frustrated. When she entered the living room, she was surprised to see Jenny sitting on the couch beside Crane, drinking coffee.

'How's Trudy?' Jenny asked by way of greeting.

'I don't know,' Abbie replied in all honesty. 'She's fed, she's clean. I've told her I'm here if she needs to talk. Other than that, I don't know what I can do to help her.'

'She's gonna need more than that before this is over,' Jenny said cryptically.

'What are you talking about?' It was then that she noticed a thick, crumbling tome on the table in front of them.

'I was looking among Corbin's files, looking for references to healers. I couldn't shake what I saw on the night of the fire – how Trudy healed that kid. I found this – the account of David, a 6th Egyptian century monk and visionary. In it, he claims to have thwarted Moloch's attempt to abduct three hundred children in order to sacrifice them. Moloch believed their blood would allow him to walk the earth again. David found a _magus_ who banished Moloch to a world-between-worlds that would be his prison. We know it as Purgatory.'

'I don't understand,' Abbie interjected. 'What has this got to do with Trudy?'

'David writes that the _magus_ sacrificed his life to defeat Moloch, but before he died, he prophesied that Moloch would not stay imprisoned forever. He would raise an army of disciples, just as twisted and power-hungry as he. The only way to undo Moloch's hold over them is for one like him to cleanse them of their wickedness.'

'One like him?'

'The _magus_ is described as a healer – one who can purge evil and raise the sick. Am I crazy or does that sound like someone we know?'

Abbie felt as if she had been kicked in the stomach. What Jenny was suggesting was using an orphaned and grieving girl as a weapon to take down Moloch. She thought of how the demon had poisoned her life ever since she was a little girl. Surely it was her first responsibility as a Witness to rid the world of his evil by whatever means?

She shuddered, unsure of herself. To whom did she owe her first allegiance? To the world at large or to the girl she had sworn to protect?

'Crane?' she pleaded. 'Do you think this is a good idea?'

His eyes were fixed on his hands, revealing nothing of his inward thoughts. 'I think that without my wife as an ally, we shall need every weapon at our disposal if we are to defeat Moloch and his minions.'

Somehow, Crane's simple argument broke down all resistance in her. No matter what happened, he had the uncanny ability to make everything clear to her.

'All right,' she said after a long silence. 'But we do this my way.'


	6. Chapter 6

Crane was barely awake when he heard the unmistakeable sound of Abbie's car pulling up outside the cabin. In response to her violent knocking, he pulled on some clothes and opened the door, eyes rebelling against the garish daylight. It took a moment for him to register the slightly crazed look on his partner's face.

'Crane, I need your help.'

'Of course, Lieutenant,' he replied once he had gathered his wits. 'How may I be of service to you?'

It was then that he noticed Trudy standing by herself at the edge of the porch. He felt his spirits instantly plummet. It was not that he disliked the girl or was unsympathetic to her plight, but he often found himself strangely tongue-tied in her presence. He was unsure if it was her suffering that unnerved him, or her unearthly calm, or the knowledge that they would soon risk her life in the fight against Henry.

The thought left him feeling deeply uneasy. He had a firm conviction that they must use every weapon in their arsenal to free Sleepy Hollow from the tyrannical grip of Moloch. Nonetheless, in his weaker moments, he could not escape the knowledge that what they were planning was monstrous. Moloch, in his cowardice, had exploited the vulnerability of children for his own ends. How was this any different?

Crane had tried to make conversation with Trudy on more than one occasion, but was frustrated to discover that he – a renowned raconteur at General Washington's gatherings – had nothing to say to her. Nothing, either in his past life or his present had prepared him for spending time alone with a twelve-year-old girl, a grieving, supernaturally gifted one at that.

He was snapped out of his reverie by the realisation that Lieutenant Mills had stopped speaking and was looking at him expectantly. Luckily, his unusual brain allowed him to absorb large quantities of information at once. There was a manhunt in progress for an escapee from Tarrytown Psychiatric. Sheriff Reyes was confined to bed with a debilitating case of shingles and had personally tasked Abbie with heading up the team.

He did not remember assenting to her request – whatever it was – but before he knew what had happened, Abbie was shouting her thanks and gunning the engine. Trudy stood before him with an inquisitive look, her large green eyes guarded and full of secrets.

'Would you… care to come inside?' He bowed stiffly, suddenly aware of how foolish and antiquated his behaviour must seem to someone of her age. He recalled, with some chagrin, how his father's fastidious adherence to correct behaviour had embarrassed him as a boy.

'Can we go to the mall instead?'

'The mall?' Crane raised an eyebrow, his mouth framing the unfamiliar word.

'It's a place where people shop for clothes.' She adopted a curious expression, as if she suspected he might be slightly touched in the head. 'I always wanted to go but my mom never let me.'

Crane noted the subtle mention of her deceased mother. It was clear that the girl was skilled in the feminine arts of manipulation. He felt a sudden and wholly unexpected spark of kinship with the girl; she too was a stranger attempting to negotiate an unfamiliar world.

'Sadly, I have neither the conveyance to transport us to the mall, nor the funds to purchase said clothes.'

'I know. Abbie told me about you.'

Trudy gave him an appraising look. There was an imperious quality to her gaze that made Crane feel that he might someday rue her disapproval.

'She gave me some pocket-money. We can at least get some ice-creams.'

'It's five miles into town. How do you propose…'

'Five miles is nothing.' Trudy shrugged. 'At the compound we used to hike into the wilderness for days to prepare for the Rapture.'

During that long winter in Valley Forge, Crane would regularly lead his men on fifteen-mile-long marches, just to keep their feet from succumbing to frostbite. He was well accustomed to hikes, but did not relish the prospect of going anywhere at this time of the morning, particularly without his morning coffee. Nonetheless, he was not a cruel man and wished to offer whatever meagre comfort he could.

'I shall fetch my coat.'

* * *

Much of the walk was spent in silence as Crane frantically searched his brain for any subject that might interest a twelve-year-old girl. It struck him forcefully that, had his marriage had the chance to come to fruition, he might someday have fathered a daughter. Eventually, he would have had to deal with the strange moods and proclivities of girlhood.

'It must be difficult for you,' he heard himself saying. 'Adjusting to your new life, having lost your mother so tragically.'

'I don't like to talk about it.'

Crane sighed. Trudy's silence was impenetrable, it seemed. 'I only meant to say that I too know how it is to feel completely alone, to have lost everything familiar. To be thrust into a world without so much as a map or a lodestar to guide me. To have lost a family I did not even know I had…'

The sudden image of Katrina holding a bonny infant in her arms burned through his mind. The pain of her desertion was still close, so much so that he felt his eyes stinging and his throat aching with an unreleased sob. Instead he coughed. 'I mean to say that you are not alone, Miss Trudy. Whatever you may believe.'

She stopped in her tracks and turned to him, her green eyes swimming with tears. She nodded tersely before walking off again.

Crane was struck dumb with the realisation that her eyes were the same shade as Katrina's.

* * *

They spent the whole morning walking around the mall, neither of them able to conceal their wonder. They feasted their eyes on the vast array of stores with shelves groaning under the weight of shoes and clothes, restaurants and bakeries advertising enticing delicacies, jewellery shops filled with an Aladdin's cave of treasures.

At the ice-cream parlour, Trudy bought a cone with two scoops of rocky road, slathered with chocolate sauce. She consumed the treat with the enthusiasm of a prisoner released from captivity, which, in a way, she was.

Crane selected one scoop of vanilla and one of chocolate for contrast. He could barely suppress the pleasured grin on his face as he ate his ice-cream, mindful of Trudy's warning against the dreaded 'brain-freeze.' They walked along side by side, enjoying the novelty of their day out.

He was shocked out of his pleasant daydream by an anguished cry. A small boy stood among the throng of shoppers, a look of the most acute distress on his face. Crane felt a tug at his heart when he realised that this child was – he believed the modern parlance was – mentally handicapped.

A woman stepped forward and attempted to comfort the child, but was only rewarded with renewed bouts of sobbing. His anxiety seemed to be exacerbated by the milling crowds and the music blaring through speakers throughout the mall.

The boy's cries reached a pitch and he began hitting himself in the face and body. It was deeply upsetting to watch, and Crane saw several security guards standing at the verge of the crowd, unsure what to do.

Trudy stepped forward, kneeling down to the boy's height. Almost instantly, the boy's fearful sobbing began to wane.

'Hey, I'm Trudy. Do you want my ice-cream?'

The child looked so surprised that he stopped crying. He stood transfixed, reaching his hand to take the cone from her hand. Trudy spoke to him in soft tones, telling him about red balloons and cotton candy and all the wonderful sights she had seen that day.

She seemed to Crane to be a different girl, unburdened by the pain of her recent bereavement. Little by little, the little boy seemed to fall under her spell. He was mesmerised, absently licking the ice-cream cone as he listened to her words, his eyes wide with delight.

Then he laughed, a sound so unexpectedly joyous that it seemed like bells chiming.

'Brandon!' A harried-looking woman pushed her way through the crowd and went straight to the boy. 'There you are! How many times have I told you not to wander off?'

She hugged her son tightly for a moment, before holding him at arm's length and examining him closely. 'What's the matter with you?'

The woman looked from Crane to Trudy, a look of alarm contorting her features. 'What did you do to my son?'

Trudy looked terrified. 'I'm sorry, I… I didn't mean it!'

She jumped up and ran away before Crane could stop her. 'Forgive us, madam. The girl meant no harm. He was distressed, and…'

'No, you don't understand,' the woman said. 'Brandon doesn't laugh. He rarely smiles – he just cries and hits himself. He has no language. I don't know how to communicate with him. But that girl just… got through to him. How?'

It was that moment that the truth pierced Crane like a shard of glass. He almost laughed at his own stupidity. Her ability to heal was no accidental gift. Trudy was no _magus, _no mere healer.

She was a witch.


	7. Chapter 7

_A chill breeze buffeted the treeless branches that lined the path in front of her. Trudy looked down and saw that she was clad only in those ugly pink pyjamas that Abbie had given her. Her feet were bare and she felt the cold penetrating into her very bones. _

_She did not recognise her surroundings. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew that she was supposed to be in bed, asleep. At the same time, she could not shrug off the impression that she meant to be where she was. Against her wishes, was felt impelled forward by some unknown force. _

_An opening appeared in the trees ahead of her. Trudy found herself standing in a crumbling cemetery, amongst a host of cracked and forgotten tombstones. She was struck to the heart with fear; there was something so lonely and baleful about this terrible place._

_She felt a sob rising in her throat; she had never felt so lonely, so abandoned and lost. She wanted her mother. More than anything else, she longed to be held, to be told that everything would be okay._

_'Mom!' she cried out. 'Mom, I need you.' _

_She was pierced by the harrowing realisation that her mother was really and truly gone. Up until then she had held onto the hope that it had all been a mistake, that her mother would show up one day, completely unscathed, ready to bring her home again._

_But there was no home, no family. The compound where she had lived was ashes, as were her friends._

_In front of her, she saw the looming figure of an angel atop a stone plinth. Beneath the statue was a tablet with a name carved into it - the years of birth and death in chilling parentheses._

_She could not read the name; it blurred before her eyes. Yet she knew it in her heart. She knew it because it was her own name._

Trudy opened her eyes, unable to stop shaking.

* * *

Crane paced the floor of the cabin, feeling his hackles rising. 'Lieutenant, I am simply suggesting that we regroup with Miss Jenny and reassess our options – that is all.'

Abbie stood before him, arms folded tightly, her eyes brimming with suspicion. 'A week ago, you were gung-ho about using Trudy to take down Henry.'

Crane sighed; this conversation was not going according to plan. He had summoned the Lieutenant to his apartment with the promise of coffee and fresh pastries, hoping to share his misgivings about Trudy. It didn't take long, however, for things to come to a head.

Abbie approached him with steely determination. He recognised the gait of a hunter, a hardened investigator determined to see past his evasions in order to get to the truth. 'Something happened to change your mind. Tell what it is, Crane, or so help me…'

Crane felt the cabin's wooden wall pressing against his back. He raised his hands, as if in surrender. 'I believe that Trudy may be only living witch left alive in Sleepy Hollow. Other than Katrina of course, wherever she may be.'

'A witch?'

Abbie's face was contorted into a curious expression. Crane felt his stomach drop; he had expected that she would be merely incredulous, but instead he saw pain in her eyes. The association with Katrina's betrayal was clearly as distressing for her as it was for him.

'It is not wishful thinking, believe me. The day you left Trudy in my care, she insisted on visiting the local clothing emporium. Whilst there, I saw her comforting a child in distress. I may seem innocuous, but the way she engrossed the child was unmistakeable. She was able to calm him in a manner that could only be a kind of mesmerism or spellcraft.'

He regarded Abbie steadily. 'Where would a child brought up in a religious compound find access to such knowledge?'

'You don't think…' She paused, thinking hard. 'Damn it, Crane. Me and Jenny weren't much older than Trudy when Moloch appeared to us. What if he's got to her already?'

Crane quickly closed the distance between them and gripped her shoulders. 'Do not even think that.'

She met his gaze determinedly. 'What kind of person am I, Crane? I actually considered using her to take down Henry. I'm supposed to protect her!'

'I understand, Lieutenant,' Crane said softly. 'She is a mere child, but she also possesses some extraordinary gifts. Neither one of us asked for this mission, but we have been tasked with it nonetheless. Perhaps Trudy has also been placed in our path, much as we found each other against all the odds. Perhaps she has a larger part to play in all this.'

Abbie looked at her partner for a moment, pondering his words. He seemed to have grasped onto this possibility with all the fervour of a convert. He had made an idol of his beloved Katrina and been left heartbroken and disenchanted. Now he was turning to another religion.

'She's a child, Crane. A child.' Abbie appealed to his instincts as a father. 'Promise me you won't risk her life, Crane. Promise you'll do everything you can to protect her.'

Crane looked at his partner. He had rarely seen such fear and desperation in her eyes. He was ready and willing to win the war against Moloch using all means necessary. Despite this, he could not forget the debt he owed Lieutenant Mills. After everything she had done for him, all the trials they had undergone together, he could not deny Abbie her wish. Honour demanded that he assent to her request.

'I promise I shall my hardest to guarantee her safety, Miss Mills. Nonetheless, if she is amenable, then I believe she should be allowed to join the struggle against Henry.'

There was a long moment of silence where Abbie weighed what Crane had said. Eventually, she nodded.

* * *

Jenny pulled her truck to the side of the road and peered out through the grimy window. The trailer park looked just as Micky the bartender had described it. It had the same run-down, grimy feel of the foster homes she had lived in as a child.

She climbed out, spotting a pre-teen boy lounging against the wire fence that enclosed the motor homes.

'Hey kid, you wanna earn five bucks?'

The scruffy, zoned-out youth stared back at her, shrugging impassively.

'This car still has all its tires and hubcaps intact when I get back, five dollars is all yours.'

Jenny walked along a line of identical trailers until she reached number 153. The front step was decorated with garden gnomes and potted plants like many of the others, but the plants had long since withered and the place had an abandoned air.

She rapped loudly at the door. After a few moments of silence, she took her trusty Swiss army knife from her jeans and began to jimmy the lock. She barely registered a change in the air temperature, a hint of movement.

'You wanna tell me what the hell you're doing here?'

Jenny felt both barrels of a shotgun pressing into the small of her back. 'I like to see a man's face before I answer questions.' She was surprised at now neat the comeback was; inside she was quaking.

Before she could take a breath, she was spun around and shoved into the door. A middle-aged man stood in front of her, hollow-eyed and breathing beer. He held the shotgun up to her face like he meant it.

'I'm here to see Katrina.'

'Never heard of her,' the man drawled. 'Beat it.'

'I know she's here.'

The man's trigger finger twitched. 'You got three seconds to start retreating, girlie.'

'There's a girl's life at stake.'

'Three… two… one…'

'Stop.'

Jenny looked up in the direction of the voice. It seemed to emit from within the trailer, soft like silk but as strong as iron. She was sure she saw the net curtain twitch.

'Thank you for your vigilance, David, but it's all right. Let her come in.'

The door opened a crack, and 'David' simultaneously lowered his gun. Swallowing in relief, Jenny opened the door and stepped inside.


End file.
